


morris dietrich, all alone.

by semilunars



Series: when we all fall asleep, where do we go? [4]
Category: Sdorica (Video Games)
Genre: (for like one chapter), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet Ending, Five Stages of Grief, Implied / Referenced Bullying, Implied / Referenced Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Death in Childbirth, Multi, Trans Male Character, Unplanned Pregnancy, grief / mourning, ik this is an au but is this lowkey ooc i dont even know anymore :ppS:, no beta we die like len, tokophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25686556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semilunars/pseuds/semilunars
Summary: Your name is Morris Dietrich, and you were a proud father once.
Relationships: Aosta Clovis & Morris Dietrich, Charle Ceres & Elio Ceres, Charle Ceres/Morris Dietrich, Choe Li Hwa & Morris Dietrich, Elio Ceres & Morris Dietrich, Morris Dietrich & Shirley Horizon
Series: when we all fall asleep, where do we go? [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690822
Comments: 16
Kudos: 4





	1. 0.

**Author's Note:**

> a few months ago, i had a dream about this damn timeline again, this time in morris' perspective. so i decided to fill in the blanks because god, do my dreams refuse to live february down :charlekekhands:
> 
> special thanks to [manic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnglophilicSins), [uki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazysoulhymn), elentiya, and kai for providing some inspiration for this piece. (yes, elentiya, i applied your ending for this one. i hope you're proud of what you've brought upon these lands owo uwu)
> 
> also, while this is in no way a canon ending to middle ground, this can be taken as a heads-up for what to expect in one of the future chapters in the multiverse fic!
> 
> again, **please heed the tags and proceed with caution.** both elio and morris are trans men in this piece btw so um,, respect in the comments please, ty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **life**  
>  /lʌɪf/
> 
>  _noun_  
>  noun: life; plural noun: lives; noun: one's life; plural noun: one's lifes  
> the period between the birth and death of a living thing, especially a human being

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for mentions of bullying and transphobia in this chapter!

Life Magic prodigy. Professor. Dean.

Your name is Morris Dietrich, and you were a proud father once. Unbeknownst to your younger self, perhaps— you were not one for social attachment and interaction, after all.

Untapped discoveries. Academy regulations. Works in progress. Your time with Charle and Clovis. Your recovery from an untimely error. Even more Academy regulations. Charle’s body, now unaging. _Your_ body, also just as unaging.

Those were your main concerns back then, way before you became what they would consider a family man.

A few days after you made a full recovery, you saw your child for the first time, sleeping in a Moses basket and accompanied by his birth mother.

Clio Fournier. You haven’t heard, let alone mentioned her name for years now. She looked exhausted and unkempt— no, that was an understatement. You could see how multiple burns and scratches were littered around her body, how she couldn’t walk without limping. And when you peered into the Moses basket, it got even more complicated— you found a colored strand of hair, a contrast to Fournier Junior’s silver locks. The symbol of nobility.

_Fournier, just what the hell were you up to these past few years…?_

Unfortunately for you, she didn’t have the time to explain, and even if she did, she claimed that she’ll only be scratching the surface. “Some” problems, your foot— she had quite the final request, which was to look after her child for just one day. She left the valley with a Rune parasite looking after her; it was what you could offer at the moment.

Fournier gave you one last bittersweet smile, as she vowed to repay your kindness.

You never heard from both of them again. So much for one day, so much for repaying.

Charle was just as shocked and confused as you were upon hearing the news, and you didn’t know whether to feel relieved because someone understood you, or to feel frustrated because _how else are you going to handle this mess?_ Either way, the bridge was crossed right before it was reduced into ashes, and there was nowhere else to go but forward.

At least you had someone to wander these uncharted lands with. Though of course, the initial plan was to not get lost— Fournier’s dead, Clovis was out of the question, the noble parent (and their stand on the matter) remained unknown, and neither you nor Charle were in any condition to raise Fournier Junior, considering everything that’s happened in your careers. You couldn’t afford to get attached, and swore to yourself that it wouldn’t happen. Noble strands were cut, possibilities were discussed, and the decision of scouting for potential foster parents was made.

Plot twist: once the kid started walking and talking, calling the two of you “papa” and “dada”, you and Charle found yourself in some kind of… awe.

And you told yourself you wouldn’t get attached.

Ah, fuck it.

Fournier Junior was taken in, with you and Charle officially registered as his foster fathers. Another field for you to serve as Charle’s foil in, and vice versa. Yin and yang. Some of the people in the Academy, be it fellow professors, students, or even alumni, saw you as chaotic. A few selfless souls volunteered to help look after the kid. Sometimes, even Clovis or your foster son would clean up your messes if they had to!

However, many years later, when the title of Life Magic Dean was in your hands and the Headmaster title was in Charle’s, there was a particular situation that you once thought not even your own kid could resolve.

By the time Fournier Ju—no, _Elio,_ started formal schooling under junior high, some of your notes went missing for as long as a few months, particularly the old health journal you used to document your transition at the Academy. It was only after a year later when you found that some of your notes were mysteriously returned, little by little, still in good condition. And then one summer day, you finally found your health journal— returned by none other than your foster son, happily sporting the uniform Charle got for him (you were honestly a bit confused, because didn’t Elio himself tell Charle once that he got the wrong uniforms?).

He apologized for taking those notes without your consent, admitted that he was initially afraid of telling you why. And then you heard the words _transition_ and _inspiration_ and _growing up._

You connected the dots, and it all made sense.

_He was coming out to you._

And even though you didn’t treat yourself as a catalyst like he did, you celebrated with Charle. Documents were edited, settled, immortalized— from that day forward, his records said “Elio Ceres”. You paved the way for a confidence boost, helped him go further ever since. No words could express how happy and grateful he was.

Of course, not everyone was happy; some students saw it as another reason to scorn Elio for how “privileged” he was. You can hear the older male bullies in your head— _“Aww, Elio (extra venom on the “Elio”, by the way) here thinks he can be one of us!”_

Fuck those monkeys. _He is._

If they weren't wasting time making cruel remarks about Elio's identity, they and their friends would bet that he wouldn’t care about abusive and incompetent teachers, as long as he has good validation, better graces, and the best grades like the teacher’s pet that they think he is. Just like with his fathers.

What a bunch of chickenblooper. Once a monkey, always a monkey. Well, _for their information,_ there’s a clear difference between bias and common sense. Plus, people like you and Elio weren’t really as privileged as those bonobos believed.

Is there something truly wrong with being a good father to your child in a fickle world like this?

Sometimes, even Elio’s suitors ended up not being as helpful and validating as they try to be. There came nights where you would eat dinner together and it’s evident that Elio was tired and uncomfortable. He would vent about how they asked if he was _sure_ he was a boy, just because something was “off” about him. He didn’t need to hear that; he deserved better; you knew from experience.

And once Elio went to sleep the rest of it off, you and Charle would talk about it with a bottle of wine on vacant nights. How all you wanted for Elio was happiness and— if applicable, but not necessary— a worthy partner who would unconditionally have him for who he is.

A few more years passed, and Elio came of age, on the cusp of entering senior high. While the bullying didn’t completely die down, more people came to befriend him. Shot and Chevalier— Charle’s students— were two examples. Rumors of Elio being a noble soon came to light, and his curiosity and desire for the truth became insatiable.

The apple truly doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Regardless, family is family, and despite Charle’s hesitance towards Elio joining the civil war, you reached out to hone his skills and prepare him better. You know, make sure he didn’t die. That kind of stuff. You and Charle couldn’t afford to repeat history again, especially not with him.

You didn’t.

Or at least, that’s what you thought.


	2. i.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **de·ni·al**  
>  /dəˈnīəl/
> 
>  _noun_  
>  noun: denial  
> the action of declaring something to be untrue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: mentions of pregnancy (i mean sure it depends on the person but might as well. also hello lgbtq+ brethren) and death in childbirth, implied tokophobia.
> 
> an idea i had for morris' rune parasites was that they would have names related to knowledge and wisdom! for instance, guinevere will be referred to as sage in this fic

Life Magic prodigy, but an ex-professor-slash-dean.

Regardless, you are still Morris Dietrich, and you’re a father. You’re _still_ a father. This counts in a way, doesn’t it?

So you’re still one.

_Still one._

You shake your head to yourself. _That won’t do._ You must remember.

You _must_ …

Remember.

A sigh escapes your lips. Now a bit calmer, you look down at the brown-haired babe in your arms. Dear, helpless, oblivious Dawn. Innocently savoring two months’ worth of life. Greedily drinking the milk from her bottle. Comfortably clad in a pink coverall, like a bug in a rug.

What else was two months old now? What? The fact that you, _his father,_ were unaware of his fate until it was too late? Nonsense!

(But it’s not.)

When business at the Desert Kingdom was resolved earlier than expected, you and Charle were relieved. The more knowledge the better, sure, but you also desired to settle down for once, reform the familial bond you had. However, that wasn’t the case— you came home to Sage panicking and nearly dropping a whole basket’s worth of medicine, Clovis’ “unconscious” guardian, and no sign of Elio.

You and Charle immediately searched for clues, only to find empty bottles of medicine, scribbled out formulas, fewer prescriptions than expected for someone in his shoes (doctors who lacked bias and judgment were hard to come by, but still); you could even swear there was a neat pile of diapers and blankets, and…

You recalled that your son spent a night to assist one of Charle’s students, and it finally hit you.

He… he— Barbara’s words echo in your head— _Elio got—_

(The truth hurts, they say, but it just leaves a sour taste in your mouth. So sour that you try not to gag, that you can’t say a single word about it.)

As you followed Charle to the Academy after you and Clovis got the guardian up and running, you scolded yourself a little in your head. Perhaps if you weren’t as occupied and saw all of the signs, add two and two together and a genius like you would’ve known better. Back then, you merely thought that his body was recovering from whatever that High Priest put him through. Not that.

(And even after everything was said and done, you would insist. Sure, it won't bring him back, but it didn't matter to you back then.)

Elio returning home with Clovis’ own Runic guardian sounded fine, despite it being a last resort. You came to agree to this so he can recover at the comfort of your own home while still staying hidden, but what did he do in the middle of all that? He was facing the music through working. Making medicine and healing villagers, right behind your backs. For his and his daughter’s needs. _Alone._

(You recall the headmistress sharing your unspoken sentiments. “Even I couldn’t believe it.”)

He was far along when Tica found him passed out at the Valley, and stern little Barbara— always wary due to worst case scenarios— decided that he stay hidden within the Academy until he was well enough after the birth; and what happened? He went into labor _before he was due._

He nearly lost his daughter— an abruption, if your memory serves right. But it’s fine, this is fine, she was born in time, your granddaughter is in your arms, see?

…Not really.

The memory of a tired Barbara and a puffy-eyed Charle is still fresh in your mind. As calmly as they could, they told you everything.

Elio _died_ after getting Dawn here. Bled out the same day she was born.

And unlike Charle, you never even got a damn chance to say goodbye.

You recall sitting by Elio’s empty bed without a word. It was painstakingly cleaned up, the sheets no longer heavy with blood. Your eyes were not puffy and red from crying, no. Instead, they were tired. _Blank._ You would grip those hauntingly pristine sheets until your knuckles turned white.

 _He’s not dead._ There’s no way that _that_ lead to his death. You refused to believe it.

Instead of facing the music (as well as Charle and your granddaughter) like your son did, you drowned your fear and sorrows with research, hoping you can fix everything. Eventually, it became a mere distraction, and the Academy having unfinished business as well didn't help matters. You needed to remind yourself that the desire to seek the truth was your only constant, so you thought, "Why not play along?" Sometimes you would come across _his_ old notes, mix up others’ research papers with _his_ own, but did that stop you? Of course not; you pretend you didn’t see all that. You scanned test papers page by page, not minding the paper cuts like what you did with the pangs of heartache whenever the name “Elio Ceres” came up.

It’s silly, the truth seeker ignoring the truth, but no matter how much you protest, it is what it is. To think that you kept this charade up for a month…

Surprise, surprise: it only got worse.

Upon hearing the news of Theodore’s downfall and your research, the Dracontines decided to show up a month later and wreak havoc— and it was up to you, Charle, Chevalier, Choe, and Clovis to put a stop to it. It took more time and effort than you hoped and planned, but a victory is a victory. That damn monkey was lying unconscious on the simulation arena, and you turned your back on her, ever confident…

Little did you know that Charle was about to breathe his own last breath. And once more, a genius like you overlooked the signs.

The runes that Dracontine woman used left a lot of Soul Energy growing unstable. It became overwhelming; the whole arena could actually become a graveyard at any second. You and your partner were in a pickle, for at that rate, only one of you could make it back to the real world. Your decision was to put Charle first, of course— you wanted to put a foot down, to never lose anyone close to you again.

Turns out he thought the same.

Losing Illaure way back was one thing, but this was a pill with its own unique difficulty for swallowing.

It takes more than simple runes and theorems to absorb the fact that both your son and your partner are gone. All in a span of _a few measly months_ , which is _hogwash;_ they were some of the strongest people you know; how come they’re already _gone—_

Dawn moves away from the bottle, satisfied with her fill. The touch of her hands pulls you out of your musings.

 _…Enough,_ you tell yourself. You’re growing backwards again.

Putting the bottle (and your foot) down, you get Dawn to burp. Once you’re done, it’s back to the shelves for you.

The encyclopedia chapter you come back to talks of a distant civilization, far away from Vendacti. A nearby river keeps its lands fertile, providing quite the bounty for its people. Some called it the Nile, which— amusingly enough— sounds a lot like “denial”.

In your defense, it fed and fed and _fed_ until you’re as stuffed as your granddaughter.

Just like a river would.


	3. ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **an·ger**  
>  /ˈaNGɡər/
> 
>  _noun_  
>  noun: anger; plural noun: angers  
> a strong feeling of annoyance, displeasure, or hostility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this is taking a bit longer than expected. i hate to admit it but... i've been out of it lately.
> 
> anyway dramatic author's note aside update ahoy

Life Magic prodigy. Former professor and dean. Grandfather. Sick and tired.

Your name is Morris Dietrich, and— _Can I have some peace and quiet for more than one second?_

It’s two in the goddamn morning and here you are— exhausted at your wits’ end from grieving, yet struggling to sleep thanks to Dawn crying for the umpteenth time since… naturally, the responsibility of shushing the chimp falls on you.

So you get out of bed and march to her crib with a groan.

Whenever you see Dawn bawling, sometimes you end up seeing someone else. And frankly, you’re not in the mood for that plot twist. You don’t have the energy. You just want to get this over with and _sleep._

Alas, not even that prevents it from happening this time around.

In the physical sense? You’re at the Kingdom of the Sun. Dawn cries. You peer at her. You realize that you just can’t stay mad at her. You inspect her diapers and search for new ones. Afterwards, you get a clean baby bottle and set it down on the counter.

Mentally, you’re back at the Desert Kingdom. You could swear you can hear the clinks of glass bottles. You lean closer, your ear a breath away from the bathroom door. You’re relieved to know that Elio was inside, although you can hear him… crying?

 _So that’s where he went after I gave him the serum._ If he got into trouble again just a few weeks after the unrest at the New City, you’d be both stressed and impressed.

(You never considered the fact that he also took some testing flasks with him, though. That every single one trapped him in a corner, screaming “positive” at him. To this day, it ticks you off.)

The sniffling dies down, and the abundance of clinks grows as he hurriedly tidies the bathroom up and steps out. To this day, you can recall him leaning on your chest, with you rubbing his back as a means of consoling him.

“…I just miss them, Dad.”

And you might not say it out loud, but _you_ miss _him._

Your son, Elio? He’s more than just that— he was a successor, a friendly rival; he was a walking academic curriculum. He was one of the few who helped you grow as a dean, as Charle’s partner, as a father, _and_ as a person overall. You never expected that you would hope that the honor was yours to keep for as long as you live. Not that you were complaining, though. In the end, you risked every nail and tooth in your body for him.

If fate were any kinder, you would’ve done it one more time to save him from the brink of death.

It used to anger you so much, how he kept it from you. How he tried to handle it by himself. You just reunited after several close brushes with death and… and this happened. Just… why‽

“Bonobo” didn’t cut it at that rate— Elio was _a fucking dumbass._

Charle, on the other hand… it’s like he just gave up, it’s as if he was hoping Vendacti himself could hear his prayers. Charle, who— who _stared_ _death in the face_ several times, sometimes as fiercely as you would… was on his knees, begging it for mercy.

If your aggravation towards the whole situation wasn’t enough, well… no words can describe the envy that suddenly bubbled within you back then. How come fate allowed _him_ to see Elio one last time— and like _that,_ even— and not offer you the same mercy?

It just wasn’t right.

You could’ve taken matters into your own hands! You could’ve asked every question your brain could muster— if Elio had any complications that could’ve led to this, how long it was going on, how much blood he’s lost, so on and so forth. You could’ve done whatever you could to keep Elio by your side… potions, healing, life-prolonging hexes, forbidden magic… _anything,_ really! Or you could’ve at least guided the healers— you _were_ the Dean of the Life Magic department; they had to listen to you, right‽

Charle defended himself calmly, a sharp contrast to the harsh remarks that you gave. “I wish it didn’t happen; I wish I had something that could’ve saved him, Morris, I really do. But not even we have the ability to fix everything all of the time… Please, you must understand—”

_Bullshit._

Charle was a former headmaster; a plethora of knowledge was in his hands! And he had the audacity to say he wished he was able to do something? The least he could’ve done was stall the inevitable until you arrived!

“Remember what the healers said. He caught a sickness days before Dawn’s birth, and the birth of inter-species offspring only has a partial chance of success. We both know about the torture he went through before this—”

“Stop.”

You threw your hands up in defeat, forcing Charle to keep his distance. “Just stop it. I don’t want to hear your excuses.”

“Morris…”

That was the last time you spoke to him before the Dracontine incident.

Clovis visited your old laboratory a few days after, concerned for your well-being.

“You just lost…” his voice trailed off. “You just came back from the Desert Kingdom. Don’t strain yourself. You must rest—”

Without missing a beat, you told him to shut up.

People often said that grief had five stages, and it felt like you were rolling through all of them in circles without any sign of stopping. You were never one to like being disturbed while in deep contemplation, especially at a time like this.

In your hands was an undergraduate thesis on different types of Soul Energy. You scanned its pages for content that can be linked to what you know about Crystals. Initially, you burned the eyebrows for the sake of finding something that could fix everything. Soon, it’s no longer out of denial; you were researching for the heck of it.

Once the topic was finally dropped, you told Clovis to make himself useful and assist you with a hypothesis. Just the way things should be.

But alas, he was the last disturbance you had to take care of.

By nighttime, a group of students went into the laboratory without any permission, and immediately recognized you, demanding you to “hand the traitor over”. Without any effort, you debilitated the chimps.

“He’s _dead._ Now stop wasting my time.”

But chimps will be chimps; they went ahead and did exactly that. You tried to warn them, and yet they had the nerve to accuse you of lying, _all for him…!_

So without any hesitation, you raised your hand and—

“Wait!”

And Balzac came in.

As Clovis went back to fretting over you, the headmistress reassured the group, but not without telling them to keep the night’s events a secret. While you were glad that that’s over with, what happened next was the true crowning moment for you— “If I can have you as a research person for my study on Crystals, I’d appreciate your assistance.”

 _Now we’re talking._ The beginning of a brand new era of knowledge.

You went to one of the furthest shelves, where a hidden collection of fine wines was hidden.

(As you ate your heart out, the thought of those dinners with Charle, the two of you talking the night away about the future… it crossed your mind again. Nonetheless, you served as the life of the party— totally not trying to further drown your sorrows, considering how research alone wasn’t enough at that rate.)

By the time you went back to research, you were scanning Clovis’ notes. You were intoxicated at that rate, but it didn’t matter provided you could still distinguish the simplest Rune. However, all you could see was Elio’s notes, his awards, his test papers— the more frantic the scanning became, the blurrier the line between your two successors got—

No, _everything_ is a damn blur.

All you could see— no, you weren’t “so far gone” that your head hurt and your hands shook— was chicken scratch! He called _that_ “research”?

You passed out on your desk without anyone by your side. Just like those old student days.

Speaking of students… yeah, that wasn’t the end of it.

A few more people came to visit the Academy. You kept your distance despite recognizing them as allies— Elio’s friends, in fact. More condolences to deal with, all useless in the face of death. _Chickenblooper._

You recall yourself leaning on the corner of Balzac’s office, apathetically watching as Shot and that ringmaster girl walked in. Albeit they were both exhausted, they discussed what Balzac and Charle told them.

(The memory of Elio returning to your room that day in the Desert Kingdom, somewhat sullen, played in your head. Of course Shot would be here. _Of course._ )

_Shot was the father._

You were back at the laboratory. One glass down.

 _Shot,_ Charle’s _student,_ _was the other father. Charle trusted that he would take good care of Elio._

Three glasses down.

 _Shot was the very reason why Elio suffered this fate, why he— why he had_ something _growing and gnawing inside, he only came of age around a year ago and he already—_

Five glasses, with some nausea to boot…?

_Shot killed Elio._

You’ve lost count.

“You know exactly why you’re here.”

Without a care in the world about how you should’ve sobered up better before confronting him, you dragged Shot into your laboratory the moment he was free and alone. It was time to set things straight, after all— better to do it early while drunk than to be sober without the time for compromise.

“Dean Dietrich…” spoke the mechanic, his voice strained with fear and guilt. “I-If this is about Elio, I—”

“I’m in no mood to deal with monkeys who speak out of turn.”

Shot sighed, slouching a little in defeat. _Typical, for a slacker._

“Don’t try to cross me further.”

“I-I’m not, Dean, what I meant was—”

You looked over your shoulder with every ounce of scorn you could muster, which was enough for him to keep his mouth shut. He pretty much earned it for making Elio suffer, for still having the _nerve_ to speak his name after that.

“…I won’t beat around the bush. You are to take responsibility for Elio’s child.”

Instead of hearing an actually useful peep from him, you saw a hint of pain in the mechanic's eyes.

“Well?”

“I'm sorry, but... I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

It was your turn to sigh. If Shot can’t carry his weight even in a situation like this, then so be it. You don’t have the time and energy for someone like him.

“Please, just… give me some time! I’ve used up several chances. Torn as I am, it wouldn’t be proper of me to just throw another one away, especially if he… n-never mind; I’ll finish my research at the Mechanical Kingdom as soon as possible, and then I can—”

“Alright, alright, _I get it._ I completely understand.”

He blinked in surprise and bowed down, savoring the final piece of mercy you’ll ever give him.

“Thank you, Professor...! I swear, once my studies are done—”

You snapped your fingers, swiftly wrapping the mechanic in magic strands.

_“…Never show your face here again.”_

With a flick of your wrist, Shot was thrown out of the room, the door breaking in the process—

You throw the used diaper into the bin before finally heading back to bed.


	4. iii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **bar·gain**  
>  /ˈbärɡən/
> 
>  _verb_  
>  gerund or present participle: bargaining  
> negotiate the terms and conditions of a transaction

Life Magic prodigy. Former professor and dean.

Your name is Morris Dietrich, and you find yourself missing fatherhood.

It’s been four months since you both became a grandfather and lost your son. While you do appreciate having the chimp in your arms around (though you’re not the type to readily admit anything like it), sometimes you just… sit down and think about what it’d be like if Elio and Charle were here to see them too.

If things turned out differently between the three of you, they would be…

Right?

“Before us today… is Dawn Marie Carlos, my niece by blood.”

Three months ago, you stood before Queen Angelia with Dawn innocently resting in your arms, a group of nobles buzzing around you. _The Queen has a niece? Since when? How can this be? Is it truly a blood relative? Where’s the pri— fugitive then?_

“As for the fugitive Elio Carlos… I’m afraid he is no longer with us. This infant is all we have left of him.”

No shit.

And yet, the buzzing grew louder.

While you were doubtful about those nobles understanding, about them being sincere… you could tolerate some of their comments better.

_The prince, a father?_

_So, this “friend” Betty kept writing about met Queen Melanie’s fate?_

_His actions were inexcusable, but this is just awful!_

_He committed a war crime for his family, and fate continued to deny him of one. How tragic…_

_Well, he’s in a better place now._

_And he was so young…_

The rest of it… well, you have no words. _“What happened to him?” “Was he slain in secret?” “Where’s the former Headmaster in the middle of all this?”_ If _everyone_ in the room had enough brains to put the puzzle pieces together with, there would be no need for such trivial questions. _Niece by blood. The fugitive, Elio Car—_ Ceres. _All we have left of him. Read between the lines, you orangutans!_

You honestly wished you weren’t at the throne room back then. You couldn’t stand the secondhand embarrassment that much.

The Queen lifted her hand, a sign for the crowd to observe silence. _There we go, Angelia. You’re doing Vendacti’s work._

“Her late father’s crime is a terrible offense,” she continued. “But after considering his contributions in the Desert Kingdom, and given that the Academy’s former Life Magic Dean, Morris Dietrich, vouches for him and the child…”

She walked towards you, and placed a firm hand on your shoulder.

“Morris Dietrich, with the Sun and the Twelve Nobles as my Witness, I shall grant you custody over the child, but will strip both her and her father of the Carlos name.”

As the crowd buzzed weakly for one last time, Queen Angelia leaned in and whispered—

“…My condolences, Dean Dietrich. For both Elio and Headmaster Charle.”

It cost her nothing to stay silent, and yet, she said that.

You could only nod, an unreadable expression on your face. She walked back to the throne and stood with her chin up, as if those words were never mentioned in the first place.

“That is all. You may leave.”

You wake up to the crows of nearby roosters echoing throughout the prairie.

Little by little, you’re able to get more sleep than usual, which is… good, for the most part. Sometimes you can see or hear them in your dreams. Sometimes you’re miffed that it was just in your dreams. Whenever that Carpenter woman accompanied Clovis, she’d talk the steam out of you and even share dreams of her own.

 _“My condolences, Dean Dietrich. For both Elio and Headmaster Charle.”_ Of all the memories you have to dream about…

You roll to your side with a sigh. Carpenter’s busy keeping up with business demands, so it’ll be a while before that can happen again.

Speaking of which, Dawn also knows how to roll now. Her babbling and cooing has grown frequent. She’s starting to play with your Rune parasites and Clovis’ Runic Guardian, even trying to talk to them. Not a week passed by without your granddaughter making _“gao!”_ noises ever since.

It really is a shame that she doesn’t have much of a family right now, but at least you’re not alone to see just how much this chimp is growing.

You get out of bed and do a bit of stretching. It’s officially time to start the day— a tad earlier than the new and temporary “normal”, but you and Clovis _did_ decide that Carpenter or no Carpenter, a little reunion was in order.

It’s a vacant day for the students of the Academy too, which can only mean one thing: those three monkeys will be pleading to come along. You have to prepare. A lot.

They might not be your students, but you know how those three are.

“D-Dean Dietrich…”

Ever since your confrontation with Shot, you were rarely (perhaps never) seen outside your laboratory, not even by Barbara.

You also heard that Charle spent more time away from the Academy, and seldom welcomed visitors, given how despondent he felt back then. As much as he loved your grandchild, there came days where she reminded him too much of Elio (and you, to an extent) and couldn’t bring himself to look after her. The day Dawn turned a month old was one of those days.

Balzac and company had to do the heavy lifting whenever Charle couldn’t; not even those special days were safe. So Annie, Betty, and Cara decided that it’s time to set things right between the two of you.

“Can you go make up with Headmaster Charle?” politely asked Annie, a contrast to the headstrong aura she gave off for her peers. “He’s always regretted not taking more care of Elio…”

Betty nodded from the back. “The Headmaster is worried sick. We’re sure he misses you just as much as you miss Elio.”

Cara then chimed in. “Yeah, remember when he disappeared? You both went running around everywhere looking for him! And when you realized that it might mean losing your position as Life Magic Dean, he stepped down from his position as headmaster...”

Instead of shooing them away, you let it all sink in in silence. Something that wasn’t frustration and disgust stirred within you— confusion, realization… _Is this…?_

And then the Dracontines infiltrated the Academy.

The woman who led the ambush scowled at you as if you were scum of the earth, called you “impostor” and “thief” under her breath with the contempt she could muster.

Her war cry still echoes in your head to this very day. _“Whoever knows must die— that is your answer!”_ Had you let your guard down around that bonobo, you would’ve been six feet under alongside your son by now.

_…Not that it’s a completely bad thing, come to think of it—_

“Not bad… for an impostor,” taunted the little bonobo, “but it’s too late. The show’s over.”

Just what did she want from you? First she hated you, and then she’s invested in you. You might have stopped Charle from knocking her out, but she could’ve chosen to not give a shit and kill you anyway.

“Wondering what to do, now, are we? Do you wish to vent your anger out on me yourself? Or perhaps choose sides?” she continued while walking around you in circles, treating you like a helpless little Boomshroom. “Someone like you must already know exactly why I’m here.”

Using his own words for Shot against him. Real original.

“Quit beating around the bush. If you’re here for me, then tell me why.”

She merely chuckled in assent.

The connection between Crystals and resurrection… or as she and her kin liked to call it, mystical reincarnation. It wasn’t the kind of knowledge that could be entrusted to someone else willy-nilly— for the Dracontines, at least. And soon she wasn’t just talking about the whole reincarnation shebang. That’s right; all the business you’ve done with Charle, who was tied up and left dangling in the air…

Led up to this.

You simply knew too much. That explained why she was at a loss for words with what to do with you.

“Unless you’d be willing to throw in the towel and join us, of course,” concluded the Dracontine like she was just talking about the weather. “You may be a dirty little rat, but one with enough brains to know what’s good for you. I’ll give you that.”

At the corner of your eye, you spied Carterwell making a run for it, your granddaughter in her arms. The woman didn’t seem to notice, too engrossed with her appetizer.

You smirked, playing along. “I’m still just a rat for you, after everything I’ve figured out? You wound me.”

“Well…”

She stopped right behind you, her voice greeting your ears, gentle yet… as smug as you were earlier.

“If you can prove yourself using your brat of a son, with your knowledge and ours combined... I suppose I can drop the ‘rat’ part.”

You froze upon hearing that. _Damnit!_ How did she—‽

“Oh, don’t be so tense,” spoke the Dracontine again with that irritating tone of hers. “I know what it’s like to grieve. I won’t judge.”

All throughout your life, you had some fascination towards the immortal. Some saw them as mere myth, while they were your idea of the ultimate being. You weren’t that into the concept of becoming immortal yourself, sure, but a part of you had always yearned to hold the secret to eternal life in your hands.

The first few days after Elio’s death flashed before your eyes. You _did_ use to research for a way to fix everything, no point in denying it. And you’re so close to achieving that— if you were to save your own ass and take her offer, you could make that a reality.

Once a key to the truth, always a key to the truth… and you’ll never have to lose him again.

“Morris… you wouldn’t…!”

Your focus shifted back to Charle, whose struggling became more aggressive.

“You know better than to join the Dracontines…! Don’t listen to her… she’s only using Elio to trick you—”

With a snap, the threads tightened around Charle, leaving him to gasp and yell in pain.

“Charle…” You sighed in dismay. “I don’t like it when people butt in while I'm thinking. You of all people should know this.”

He looked so _sad_ upon hearing your little comment. So sad, you weren’t in the mood for it. You turned around to properly face the Dracontine monkey.

“Anyway, where were w—”

You were cut off once again. This time, by one of her lackeys, who reported Queen Angelia and her forces’ arrival at Rune Academy.

Her bloodshot eyes widened, her fists curled at the news.

She spewed curses towards the Carloses under her breath before sending him off.

_What’s the deal with this bonobo, anyway? Calling even the royal family thieves… talk about issues._

The moment she calmed down, you found a grenade in your hands.

_“I’ll hand this honorable mission over to you then, Dietrich.”_

Your initiation ceremony (if you would call it that) was simple— pull the pin, and you’re qualified to be a Dracontine. You’ll be leaving Charle and company to die and causing the downfall of Rune Academy, but at least you have a chance to bring Elio back. On the other hand, you could take Charle’s words into consideration and show her who’s boss, but at the cost of being able to see your legacy again.

The latter choice was something you had to be more careful with— the grenade turned out to be a counterfeit, so you couldn’t try any tricks with it. _Think fast, Morris._

“…What’s with you, the royal family, this Academy, and blowing it all up anyway?”

She gave you a surprised look. Come on, you had to ask, right? It’s a difficult decision to make, after all. Mess this one up and you’re done for. “If I’m gonna do business with you lot, I’m going to at least need some help. Or maybe something to experiment with.”

(To this day, you still can't believe you were able to pull that last one out of your ass.)

She placed her chin in her hand, thinking of a good answer. “You sure love to weigh your options, do you? Well, to answer your question…” Her fingers crawled up to her lips as she giggled to herself.

“I’d like to think of it as a warning. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if no one dared to study at the Academy after—”

“Professor, _stop!_ ”

At the door stood Clovis, disheveled. “Don’t listen to her idiotic words!”

“You have a brain, Clovis. Use it or get the hell out of here.” _Save yourself while I’m not in the mood to take you out, too._

The Dracontine hummed in amusement. “Besides, what’s truly idiotic is this world, which knows nothing… and as long as everyone remains an idiot, they’ll be controlled by the sect like good little boys and girls. I assure that you won’t miss out on much, Dietrich.”

Clovis’ jaw dropped at her words. “Professor, am I hearing this right?” he asked, appalled. “There’s no way you’d possibly—!”

“Well, rat…?”

You look at her. Then at Clovis and Charle. Then at the grenade in your hands.

Destroy the Academy, and you’ll be living with your legacy. You can come back for your granddaughter after that, perhaps even give her the same privileges. Your family will remain by your side until the end of it all. All you need to do is enshroud the truth, hide it from the rest of the world.

Charle watched from above, helpless. “Don’t… Morris, please…”

Even if the world rots in ignorance forever, your son will… _your son will…!_

“Foolish!”

Instead of retreating like Carterwell did, Clovis wrestled the bomb from your grasp. Unfortunately, the force between you two was enough to activate it, but it didn’t deter him from holding it away from you and the Dracontine.

“Don’t you remember, Professor Dietrich‽ To destroy knowledge that isn’t useful to you is the one prohibition of the school of Life Magic! If your son were here, he’d make the same conclusion!”

With that, Clovis reduced the bomb to pieces.

The Dracontine woman’s shrill cries once again grated your ears. Clovis was flung across the laboratory. All you could do in the middle of it all was stand there, at a loss from what your own disciple told you.

_“If your son were here, he’d make the same conclusion!”_

What? This feeling, again…?

Memories. So many of them. Your mind was basically flooded.

Your son, in his Moses basket. Your son, sloppily drawing Runes on scratch paper. Your son, sitting in during Clovis’ classes. Your son, casting a complex spell for the first time. Your son, before he left for the Civil War. Your son, weeping on your shoulder in grief and fear.

_Elio…_

Maybe Charle and Clovis were on to something.

_You wouldn’t want this, would you?_


	5. iv.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **de·pres·sion**  
>  /dəˈpreSH(ə)n/
> 
>  _noun_  
>  noun: depression  
> feelings of severe despondency and dejection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, this chapter is a short one to show the numbness and exhaustion of it all, huh? it would be a shame if i inserted any... [musical accompaniment](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Me4xztuibWI) in the author's notes.

Life Magic prodigy. Former professor and… whatever. You don’t take another step into memory lane.

That doesn’t change anything. You’re Morris Dietrich, and you’re a grandfather. For five months now, actually.

It’s just that right now, you don’t feel like playing the part.

Another day, another dream about the pains of the past.

You’re back at the simulation arena, ready to take Charle back with you to the real world. But all the effort you’re exerting with this body of yours isn’t enough, will never be. Like all the other options you’ve exhausted.

Like Charle during Elio’s final hours, you find yourself pleading. For whatever entity out there to give Charle a third chance, even if it costs you your second one. _Please._

Your prayers fall on deaf ears.

Your expression softens.

You disliked losing most of the time. Right now you _are_ losing, but instead of anger, spite, or anything at all, you felt nothing this time. So hollow, it’s heavy.

First you lost Illaure, then you lost Elio, and now…

_“Charle…”_

Your limbs are sore. Your vision is blurring. From the desire to weep out of physical pain or from exhaustion, you know not.

What you do know was that for once in your life… after nearly thirty years…

You’re ready to give up.

_I can’t do th—_

“What are you doing, Morris?”

You lift your head up, eye to eye with Charle. He’s oddly calm given the life-or-death situation at hand. “There’s work to be done. We still have all that information on the Dracontines, remember?”

“But… damnit, I…”

He sighs and shakes his head, albeit in graceful defeat instead of disappointment. A bright light starts to shine from Charle’s body, so bright you have to shield your eyes.

The realization hits you harder than any Soul Energy bomb could.

“Charle…‽”

“I’m sorry, Morris…” he murmurs, a sad smile on his face. “But this world can’t lose you like how we lost Elio. Not like this.”

No.

_No!_

_You’re_ supposed to be one saying that! You’re supposed to be the big damn hero here! Not him!

This can’t be happening… not like this!

_Charle, you can’t…!_

“You— you baboon!” you holler, hoping that your words will reach him despite the howling winds. “If you keep this up, you’ll…”

_You’ll_ die. _We’re partners, aren’t we? If I lose you too, I…_

He shows no sign of stopping.

“Hey, partner! Are you even listening to me‽”

He replied, collected as ever. “I can hear you loud and clear, Morris.”

_Then cut it out…! We can go home together, just— let me find a way through this!_

You rush to him, praying, clinging to that single strand of hope. That the two of you would get out of this damn arena together.

_"Charle—!”_

Your vision is engulfed in white as you’re brought back to reality.

The dream ends there.

Cold. Dark. Bleak. That’s what this morning feels like. A grim opposite to when you first dreamt of the day you lost Charle. It was warm and bright, albeit you were at the Academy’s sick room, with no one but Carpenter and Choe looking after you.

You demanded to see him, and they insisted that you couldn’t. But the moment you asked why, they couldn’t even bring themselves to answer.

A Rune Academy without both your son and your partner? Cold. The skin under your eyes as you lay on your sick bed, sleepless and distraught? Dark. The prospect of a future with you seeking the truth alone? Bleak.

And yet, you were asked to assist with undoing the damages done to the Academy.

If seeking knowledge was a sin, then there really is no rest for the wicked.

The moment you were finally done, you could swear that your neck was never that sore before. _Damn, that took forever._

Clovis neatly placed the transcripts in their cases, singing his praises for you, just like usual. You forced an empty chuckle out; he deserved as much credit, too— Vendacti forbid he join those monkeys, fussing over the minor details, leaving him with all that work. There would be no one to help relay all the information you and Charle gathered about the Dracontines.

Your smirk softened into a sadder, but otherwise grateful smile. “Ask all you want, downplay yourself all you want, but there would be no amnesty granted if we didn’t relay all that intel. I appreciate it.”

You really did.

That amnesty was what you had left of Elio _and_ Charle, anyway.

“Ah, one last thing. You forgot this.”

Clovis’ eyes widened as he recognized the dusty notebook in your hands. “That’s…!”

“Remember when I got drunk that one time? When I stumbled—” you waved the notebook to emphasize your point— “across your Crystal notes?”

“…I…”

You could see Clovis flinch a little, his gaze dropping. “Er… y-yes, Professor.” Poor guy. The wounds you inflicted on him by simply drinking your ass off were still fresh in his mind.

You had a similar case with that Dracontine woman, who had the audacity to lap you with the likes of her. _"So what? Ever since Shirley left me, I’ve never felt happy living! Aren’t you the same, Dietrich, now that what’s left of_ Clio Fournier _is gone? Then let’s die together!”_

Not that she was completely wrong— it would be a waste of energy to protest. Even so…

The notebook was given one final pat before you returned it to Clovis. “I went through it again and _properly_ this time, and it was one of the most interesting reads I’ve ever had in months… You really are one of a kind.”

“Professor Dietrich…”

“In fact… I’ve got a special proposition for you.”

Clovis blinked once more as you firmly held him by the shoulder, clearly taken aback by the sudden gesture. Not that it really bothered you.

“Look after these monkeys and knock some sense into them in my stead, will you? My hands are gonna be full from trying to raise a chimp by myself, after all.”

_Besides, I don’t have long before my body caves in as well… A few years, give or take; maybe a decade if I play my cards right_ and _get lucky._

_And if I have no family to come home to at the Academy, then what’s the point?_

“—gao!”

You turn to the source of the babbling, holding on to whatever focus was left after the memories came flooding in. Dawn flashes a toothless grin, playing with Clovis’ guardian in Carpenter’s arms.

“Gao! _Baaaaa_ -o!” She flails her arms in front of the Guardian, and it moved along, tickling her little hands with its fingers in response.

Look at them. So young, so carefree, so full of life. For a brief moment, it fills you with... something. Envy, if you have to be honest. It's not good, but it's something. Still, you just don’t have the energy and will to be in Carpenter’s shoes right now. You can't even look at her without seeing an infant Elio in Charle's arms.

There came a similar time a few days after Charle’s passing. Where you felt like you’d rather be anywhere else other than this rut, but you’re just stuck _here,_ and by anywhere, what you meant was—

“The East Alliance, you say?”

Choe nodded.

She knew that part of you was dying to get out there. To grasp knowledge that was away from the bleakness of it all. It was a promise made between you and Charle in the past, and when the two of you were working at the Desert Kingdom, he brought it up again.

She also knew that you coming along would mean the world, and not just to her. Your decisions could make or break everything that will transpire after her return; you could see it in her eyes.

She _knew,_ and yet Choe said no. Because she refused to take any of your remaining time off your hands. Everyone had lost enough, you included.

“So go be a good grandfather for me, will you, Professor?”

That was her last request before she and Chevalier departed.

And there you were, at the Headmaster’s office, by yourself.

A bleak future.

A dark truth.

Cold.

Cold. Dark. Bleak. No longer.

For now.

You still feel heavy, but at least you don’t feel the former three as intense as you did back in the morning.

The sun has set the moment you retreat back to your room, your granddaughter still in Carpenter, the Guardian, and Clovis’ care.

That overfamiliar, bittersweet solitude. Just you and Owl Boy, flying in circles peacefully above you.

And a thin metal canister in your hand.


	6. v.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **ac·cept·ance**  
>  /əkˈseptəns/
> 
>  _noun_  
>  noun: acceptance; plural noun: acceptances  
> agreement with or belief in an idea, opinion, or explanation

_To my fathers, Charle Ceres and Morris Dietrich:_

_If you’re reading this, I fear the worst has happened._

_Actually… no, there’s something I must clarify first. I’ve hidden something grave from you. For this, I sincerely apologize._

_I’m currently at the Rune Academy as I’m writing this. Headmistress Balzac has insisted that I stay until I’m well enough to return home. Or should I say… until my child and I are both well enough?_

_Do you recall the time I tried to help Clark fix Maria? I’ll admit; I got carried away. I was at a loss with what I was thinking. Soon, I was found carrying his child. He doesn’t know this, though, so please don’t take any of your distress out on him. I made the decision myself. I don’t want to get in his way._

_To be frank, I did feel torn. The general solution would be to come clean and ask you for guidance, but I believed that I’ve dealt enough blows to you both. So I faced this reality alone. Considering everything that came to light after Regent Theodore’s passing, it’s daunting. But reality is reality; I couldn’t bring myself to change it. I did all I could to support the family that I have, and the family I hoped to raise myself._

_While writing this, I wished that you’ll be here to see them. That I had the courage to tell you back then. That it wouldn’t end this way._

_My final wish? Should I die, by any means… I wished to be buried in the gardens back at home. Ridiculous as it sounds, would that mean I'll still be with all of you in the end?_

_Regardless… I know you'll be good grandfathers to them._ _Really, I do._

_Dad, Father— I love you from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for everything._

_Your son,_

_Elio._

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter.

That drumming noise was the only thing you could hear.

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. It started with rain, and it shall end with rain.

The day Fournier came back and changed your life forever, it was raining just as hard. You wondered to yourself… did it also rain this much when Chevalier found him? When Dawn was born? When Carterwell drove down these streets, desperately seeking sanctuary?

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter, pitter-patter.

Owl Boy’s wings fluttered excitedly.

Cold and shivering, but otherwise relieved, you finally found them after hours of traveling under piss-poor weather— a front porch lit up by a couple of lights, a charming weathervane standing at the rooftop. The house in a business card from Charle’s Applied Magic documents.

The Shot residence.

With one last deep breath, you put down your cloak’s hood and pulled on the string beside you. You can hear a ringing noise from the inside— muffled, of course, but it gets the job done.

“Just a moment!”

The door opened, showing a slightly plump, kind-looking woman, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, a bottle of baby powder in hand. An ornate egg was floating close to her shoulder, drawn to Owl Boy. Chevalier’s Owl Egg.

Her eyes slightly widened as she saw you. “I— um…”

You greeted her with a brief nod. “Mrs. Shot.”

“Oh, er… yes. I’m Clark’s mother.” She bowed in return. “Judging by the egg Sharice left me, you are Professor Dietrich, I assume?”

“The only and only.” A sneeze escaped your lips, the woman taken aback from it, but you heeded no mind. _Damned weather._ “I’ve come for my—”

A pause. There’s more to life than what _you_ had and what _you_ lost.

“… _our_ granddaughter.”

Her face softened. “I see. And Headmaster Ceres? Is he with you?”

Words shouldn’t have pierced you that deeply; normally they don’t, but alas— your lips curled into a frown and your gaze shifted away from her.

“Professor…?”

“…I don’t want to talk about it.”

Confused but respectful towards your wishes all the same, she dropped the topic and went to unclasp your coat, usher you into her home, and leave you a seat near the fireplace. You feebly raised a free hand in protest (the other was used to get the Owl Egg back), saying you can take care of yourself, but she insisted. It’s the least she could do, considering that you could’ve simply waited until the rain stopped instead of rushing to see Dawn.

In your defense, this _is_ your granddaughter you’re talking about. But you’re too tired to remind the woman that. You melt into the chair, savoring the warmth of the flames.

“You came just in time then, Professor. I was about to change her diapers by the time the bell rang.” That was what the woman said the moment she returned from the kitchen with a small tray with cookies and tea. With a gentle smile, she told you to make yourself at home before scurrying away, finishing what she had to do.

You recalled how back in your days at Rune Academy, Charle would make a kettle of tea for you both. And unlike everything else he tried to make, it actually tasted… _good._

When was the last time you helped yourself to a cup of tea?

…Screw it.

After a brief moment of rest, you poured yourself a cup of the tea Shot left for you. You took a light whiff— flowery, reminiscent of a Tiffanli tea blend that was favored among the more fortunate residents of the Kingdom. But… there was something else. A family blend, or a gift from fellow merchants, perhaps?

Intrigued, you took a sip. It’s a tad sweeter than you expected.

Elio liked his tea sweet. _If he were here, surely…_

You downed the whole cup, not minding the mildly scalding sensation on your tongue.

It was _delicious._

You poured yourself another cup. If you have to enjoy it in their stead, then so be it. A bite from a cookie— shortbread ones, just the way you like them. Another sip. Some rest. Another bite. Another sip. Another cookie. Your cup was once again empty by the time you started hearing footsteps again.

You dedicated the last of your alone time to composing yourself. You’ve had your dose of nostalgia for the day; now it was time to face what you came here for. _Who_ you came here for.

The rain died down a little, gently drumming along as your footsteps joined the woman’s own. She gently opened the door and went in, making sure not to make any sudden noise. By the time you shut the door behind you, Owl Boy had already made his way to the bassinet. It watched curiously as the woman carefully lifted a young infant out.

There she was. Swaddled in a mauve blanket, resting peacefully.

_Dawn Marie._

“Come, now. You must be dying to hold her.”

She was right there in front of you, but everything felt so… unreal. That’s your granddaughter. You’re a grandfather. Not once in your life have you considered this happening to you, let alone expect it to happen this soon.

Your disbelief grew with each and every move. _Grandfather. Grandfather._ The word echoed in your head. No footsteps. No raindrops. No flashbacks. Just you, Dawn, and you calling yourself “Grandfather” alongside the voices in your head. Despite having known Elio ever since he was just a babe, finding an infant in your arms remained jarring for you. You told yourself to keep it together. It’s just a little chimp; that’s all there it is to it.

Dawn gently stirred as she was placed in your arms. Your body was on autopilot, cradling her effortlessly, the same way you cradled Elio years back.

Her eyes slightly opened, curiously peering at you. The same way Elio used to.

“Hello, chimp.”

You brushed her plump cheek with your index finger. She reached out with those tiny, tiny hands, hoping to hold it. So you brushed her hands, encouraging her to make a move.

Again, like how you used to do it with Elio.

You gazed deep into those eyes. A myriad of features, a unique mix, one in a billion, and yet…

She reminded you so much of him.

She _looked_ so much like him.

All you could see… was them. Your— your _family._

For the first time on that day, you truly smiled. For one second. And then you dropped it. Because… that’s it. That is all there is.

You have a granddaughter. Dawn Marie Ceres is all you have left of them, and she’s yours to look after.

They called babies bundles of joy, but there you were, speechlessly holding one in your arms… overtaken by entangled emotions, coming undone after countless days of torment. You were finally coming to terms with it all.

Your first witness was a woman you just met, one who looked after Dawn when you couldn’t. And then her husband. Clovis and his guardian. Carpenter, whenever she came to visit. Carterwell, nearly every day she was off duty and in the mood for catching up. Balzac, on rare moments of rest, along with that trio of monkeys provided she felt like it.

But once it boils down to blood…

Life Magic prodigy. Professor. Dean. Grandfather.

Your name is Morris Dietrich, and you were a proud father once.

For now, you are all alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [musters enough Spoons (TM) to finish this 21 days after my supposed deadline bc, life] so guys we did it
> 
> plot twist: this was meant to be a birthday gift for kai. belated happy birthday, pal. ♡ฅ(ᐤˊ꒳ฅˋᐤ♪)


End file.
